


Hallelujah With a Side of Whisky, Please

by grimtart, LicksP (orphan_account)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Divorce, Having A Bad Time, M/M, RP, Roleplay Logs, bad times all around, bad times simulator, idk if they want me to tag them, ill keep adding tags, super bad times, theres gonna be grantaires DAD. and other family but idk it depends on how we continue, they said sure, this is pretty much the best thing ever??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:46:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6163060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimtart/pseuds/grimtart, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/LicksP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is a rp me and my lovely friend em did! it includes a single paragraph written by a third friend, karen, because we accidentally took over the chat and she gave up. ill update sometimes, but honestly it depends on if/when em and i continue it. theres gonna be drama (ooooh) and love and also 'WHY DOES GRANTAIRE ACT SO OLD, HES ONLY LIKE 29?????'. also beautiful words and beautiful sentences because me and em were waxing *poetic*.  i hope yall like it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hallelujah With a Side of Whisky, Please

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grimtart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimtart/gifts).



****

_ Ring, ring _ . Grantaire stared disinterestedly at the bell above the glass doors as it signaled that someone had just left. He sat behind the cashier's counter of a nondescript gas station, already wishing that his shift were over. He still had a good few hours to go. At least his classes were done for the day. He sighed and re-adjusted his forest green beanie, mulling over whether to call Joly or maybe Bossuet, just to have someone to talk to while business was slow.

 

 

It had been a tiresome day. It was not often that Enjolras wished he was out of school, but, today, he could not help but let out a relieved sigh when classes were over with. Finals were coming up, and they were coming fast; Enjolras could comfortably (or uncomfortably) say that he was not ready. Usually prepared for finals and prepared well, the blond was stressing more than typical, and needed all the time he could manage to rake in for studying. The young man, scented with black coffee and tinges of Old Spice, pushed his way into the gas station where Grantaire worked. He usually stopped there when classes were over for some coffee; it helped him save what he had at the dorms. "Hello, Grantaire," he greeted him, blue eyes focused as he made his way for the coffee. He adjusted his leather jacket slightly and sighed.

  
  


"Why, if it isn't Monsieur Enjolras! How were classes today?" he perked up a bit when the blond walked in. No need to call anyone now. Grantaire's gaze followed the fellow student as he fixed his daily coffee, noting how he seemed even more tense than usual. (Enjolras always seemed irritated to him.) He took a swig from the water bottle sitting next to him, which was very obviously not filled with water. "You ready for finals? I am," he remarked. This, of course, was a lie. Grantaire was nowhere near prepared for the tests ahead.

 

  
"No, you're not," Enjolras countered, completely aware of how unprepared the other was. It honestly was not any surprise to him, either; Grantaire never cared enough. The blue-eyed young man finished making his coffee and brought it over to the front counter to Grantaire. Knowing that he had to let it cool before he could take a sip, he continued, "I'm not ready. I've  _ never _ not been ready. I'm going to lose my mind." He was true to his words. It looked as if he had not slept in days (he hadn't), eyes accompanied by dark crescents and the vein in his temple most obviously tense. Underprepared was not his style.   
  


 

"You caught me," he indulged Enjolras and didn't argue. (This was not going to last long.) He sniffed and announced, "You might lose your mind, but you'll do fine. Remember, even geniuses could struggle in school. Take Einstein, for example. He  _ sucked _ at school. And then look at how much he accomplished! If anything, take it as a sign. You're doing good in school, you could end up doing better than Einstein. Actually, probably not, since he's Einstein, but that doesn't matter." He set down the waterbottle and studied Enjolras rather indiscreetly. He looked really worse for the wear, with bags to match his own. He needed to quit working himself to death, honestly. "You'll do better if you sleep, you know. I know it's hard to believe, but sleep can help you ace those finals. Being dead-tired even before the test is gonna fuck you over in the long run, Apollo."

  
  


Kimberly had her book back with her MacBook in she had an test. She wasn't freaking out but she still was prepared. She reached the café and went inside. The bell dinging as she entered. There were two people sitting talking. She felt awkward like she had interrupted something she thought of leaving but took a breath and went to order. She asked for a caramel macchiato. Which when she said it out load made her sound self centered and prissy. She was an introvert and hated having to talk to new people. But life was cruel so she did what she must.

  
  


"Don't call me that. It's not my name." Enjolras gave a huff, but was not angry (the nickname was just a silly disagreement). Instead, he was laced with the harsh grip of exhaustion, and it added a mean bite to his tone. But he didn't mean harm. The blond was craving an occasional habit, and to this he pointed back towards the cigarettes, and said, "Marlboro. Black. Short." The unhealthy stress relievers would get him through the night, he assumed. The Einstein comment left him chuckling, though, something uncommon for the past week or two. He leaned against the counter. "Grantaire, I'll sleep more often when you quit drinking on the job. Does your manager  _ really _ think that's water?" Honestly, Enjolras almost snorted with laughter now. His eyebrows were raised and his jaw was loose for the first time in memory, eyes looking up at Grantaire.

  
  


"Don't be ridiculous. Of course it is." He turned and grabbed the cigs, not really approving of them but if they could help, even if not necessarily in a healthy way, then he'd get them. He slapped them on the counter then swished the bottle. "Of course she doesn't. At least, she conveniently  _ forgets _ ." Grantaire winked suggestively, then turned his attention to the young lady standing nearby. "I'll get it in a second, mademoiselle. Enjolras, the cigs cost $5.40. Miss, the macchiato will be $3.65." He busied himself getting her order, handing it to her. "Hopefully if you come again, you won't be a bother like this one here. He'll run us out of business for sure!"

  
  


Enjolras stood up straight when he was given the cigarettes, and he accepted them hastily. After some time of digging for his wallet, he pulled it out and took out a five dollar bill and a one dollar bill, setting them down on the counter for the other to take. "Keep the change," he added, "I really hate all those dimes laying around, they're always everywhere." Taking a sip of his coffee, Enjolras replaced his wallet along with the cigarettes and leaned against the counter once more. "So, tell me honestly. You been studying? Or have you been too ' _ occupé _ ?"

  
  


"How kind of you!" He accepted the money from both and dropped it in the register, as well as took a few more drinks from the bottle. "See, that's the kind of girl I wouldn't mind- I've studied!  _ Tu l'esprit _ , it might not be with official textbooks and such... Does a 'study session' count?" He chuckled. Although, it would be more fun if Enjolras had still been oblivious to sex jokes. That used to be tons of fun, when everyone would make as many as they could until he got the gist. Grantaire slouched a bit, yawning, "In any case, whether I study or not isn't important. Isn't school about 'finding yourself' or some bullshit like that?"

  
  


"A 'study session?' What?" It was true, Enjolras never understood sex jokes, which, frankly, was ironic. Nonetheless, he listened to what Grantaire said and certainly heard, his expression twisting into a mix of tiredness and non-surprise. Leave it to Grantaire to say something like that, huh? Enjolras hoped that he would get the chance to change the brunet's mind about school one of these days. "It's about passing and getting your degree. You want a job, yes Grant? That's the reason we have school." A stickler for school, Enjolras crossed his arms on the countertop now. "Pay more attention and  _ study _ ,  _ mon meilleur ami _ . Before I come to your dorm room and make you." There was playfulness in his tone. He took another sip of coffee.

 

"Ah, nothing." Grantaire couldn't suppress a grin at the blond's confusion. He snickered when Enjolras explained what school was about. "In case you haven't noticed, I already have a job. I don't need school to tell me that." Ah, stale cinnamon roll, been in this world too long, too cynical. "I would pay attention and study, but alas, if I did that I just might die of boredom! Which is precisely why I don't. Academia doesn't interest me in the way that this gas station does. Why, this ought to be my career. Yes, I think I'll make it just that.  _ Quelle bonne idée! _ Who needs school when they have spiders in the bathroom and dust on the coffee-brewer?" He raised a fist dramatically. The brunet took another heavy guzzle from his own cup and lowered his hands.

 

"Why are you in college then? Sometimes I wonder about you." Enjolras straightened up. In all seriousness, he would not be surprised if Grantaire stuck at the gas station for the rest of his life. It was not the best place in the world, and certainly not the best pay, but, hey, if those were Grantaire's dreams Enjolras would not interfere! "I, for one, am going to finish college and then go out there and make a difference. I'll be a lawyer. I think I could be a lawyer." Sometimes, Enjolras did not match his appearance; he had unruly blond curls and a tan complexion, freckles galore on his skinny 5'8 frame. He wore leather jackets and jeans, white and black seeming to be the only color of t-shirts he owned; this, certainly, was not the image of the stereotypical "serious" student. Be that as it may, Enjolras was the star revolutionary of his time period (or so he liked to call himself), a smart young man who supported revolution.

 

"Ah, that's because even with these small dreams of mine, I might one day change my mind. Gas station becomes too boring? I'll be a painter. Art block? I'll become an  _ au pair _ ." He stared intently at the seemingly short student. Grantaire himself was at least 6'5, the last time he checked. One look at him and you couldn't quite place your finger on what stereotype he'd fit. He didn't look exactly like a stoner, and he wasn't a total slob alcoholic. One might describe him as 'part of the landscape'. He, too, figured that he might end up working at the station for many more years. Being a painter required talent; talent was one thing he wished he had. Being a painter also required motivation. Yet another thing to put on the grocery list. "Yes, you certainly fit the bill of a lawyer, Apollo. Being a tightwad who doesn't do anything but work is exactly your style! Being a lawyer would suit you well, even if it wouldn't suit your fashion sense. You, a lawyer, will certainly shake the world up! Good or bad, I can't say. Only different."

  
  


"Who knows, Grantaire, maybe I'll become a politician. The next president! We could do for some fixing around this country, 'uh, wouldn't you say?" Enjolras took another long, long sip of his coffee, and when he brought the cup back down it was gone. He was still tired; not even espresso helped him wake up. It was factual, now: Enjolras was a goner. His night would go as stated: he would go to the dorms, go to his dorm room, undress, and pass out. The man barely had time for eating nowadays never mind anything else. Studying was ideal, and he wanted to study when he got home, but the possibility of that was beginning to diminish. " _ Pour l'amour de mon Dieu _ , I'd love to see you put your talent to use. I know you can paint. You just need to pick up the brush. And don't you dance, Grantaire? Put the bottle down. Go dance."

 

"A politician! That'll be the day. Enjolras, for all you can do, this country is too far in the depths of Hades to be saved by the light of any God, even one like yourself," he laughed harshly. "Talent! That's a word that isn't in my vocabulary, Enjolras. Tell me, what does this 'talent' mean? I'd like to know, so I can put it on my list of things that I need to buy from the supermarket." Grantaire didn't put the bottle down. In fact, he downright refused and raised it high in the air. "Dancing! Apollo, I'd have put this bottle down long ago if I had any capability of dancing. Liking something and being good at it are two very,  _ very _ different things,  _ monsieur _ . I think I'd rather stay right here, and not move, or possibly go get some more to drink. Yes, some absinthe would be good right about now. I think I'll go get some." During this tirade, Grantaire had paused every so often to chug from the bottle. The inevitable had happened: he'd run out. " _ Ena lepto, parakaló. _ " He bent over and threw the bottle away, taking another one from a cabinet under the counter. He came back up, imbibing and wiping his mouth when he was done. "Ah, that's better!"

 

Enjolras was struck silent, pushing his own cup off to the side. He helped himself up to sit on top of the counter, back turned towards Grantaire but his hand moving back to support himself; this way, he could look back and up at the taller easily. In complete honesty, he was always a bit concerned for the brunet. He never seemed to have faith in himself, or in anything else for that matter. It was incredibly disquieting. Nonetheless, Enjolras knew that he couldn't do a thing about that, so he did his best to both attempt to force the other out of his current mindset and allow him to feel the way he already felt. The blond did worry about Grantaire's drinking habits consistently, though, and often tried his best to get him to put the bottle down at least for a day. He was, apparently, completely unsuccessful thus far. It really left Enjolras disappointed in a number of ways, for a number of reasons. Grantaire had so much potential that was being neglected.    
Finally, Enjolras brought himself back in from spacing out and said, "Take better care of yourself. I get worried." He turned his body, bringing one leg to bend and rest under his other leg on top of the counter, adjusting his position so that he could look sideways at Grantaire instead now. This position was much easier.

  
  
  
  
  


He felt rather uncomfortable with how quiet it'd gotten. Enjolras was always loud, which meant he didn't have to be. His faith in himself didn't feel like a problem, or if it did, Grantaire simply pushed it aside. That normally worked. He loomed over the counter, staring a little askew from Enjolras. "I take care of myself as if I were a five-star hotel," he mumbled. That was no contest, not in his mind. There was nothing more that he needed, nor was there anything else that he wanted. He watched the cars honking outside, kind of spacing out now.

 

The thing was, Enjolras never quite understood Grantaire's lack of necessity. How did he manage to avoid caring so well? It worried Enjolras to the bone simply because he could not understand what the other felt. He, himself, felt the need to always be doing something ; homework, politics, more homework, his job at the coffee shop, even more homework. He was dedicated to several causes; there was always a revolution to fight for with something. The shorter sighed and broke the silence. "Come to my dorm tonight? I'll help you with the homework you probably don't have finished." He drummed his fingertips against the countertop lightly.

 

He, in turn, didn't understand why the other needed to do anything . He was perfectly content with his life, and everything that he didn't do was okay, too. He sighed in mental relief. "Oh, bummer, can't. I have a nondescript thing to do. Take a rain check?" In all honesty, he had nothing worthwhile to do. His only plans were to record a new video for his youtube channel.

 

"Yeah, that works. Need to do final study touch-ups anyway." It was true. Enjolras would probably be up for the rest of the night studying and taking notes. The man honestly worked himself to the damn bone. One of these days, he would learn his lesson and take a break. He had to.   
  


"No, you don't. You've done that for, what, the past few weeks? Take a break, man." Grantaire sighed. This damn boy needed to chill about finals.

 

"If I take a break, I'll forget things when I need to remember them. I'll be fine, I'll take a break after finals are over." This was, mostly, untrue, but he would be a bit lighter on himself if nothing else. He overworked on most things he did in any case.

 

"You have never once forgotten anything that you needed. I testify to this. You will not be fine,  _ vous serez mort, _ " he complained. He used the formal vous, instead of addressing his friend as tu. Why did he do this? This writer cannot say. This writer can say, however, that Grantaire himself knew what it was like to not have sleep for at least four days - he was not about to have Enjolras join that club. The last time R did it, he tried to eat his own shirt. No such unpleasant experiences were going to happen to Enj on his watch.

  
  
  
  
  


"Hm. Interesting." Enjolras crossed his legs up onto the counter now--was it legal for him to be sitting up there like that? With a sigh, he realized that it would be illegal to smoke in this building but the urge was tempting him furiously. He restrained, though, and kept both hands on the countertop behind himself now to support himself. Leaning back just slightly, he continued, "I'll get some sleep tonight. I swear on it. Sleep is important to pass, too. But I've got to do the rest of my studying." More than he had to, he wanted to, but he did not say that. Instead, the young man raised his eyebrows, keeping his blue eyes on Grantaire with focus. "Show up sober tomorrow and I'll show up rested. Is this a deal?" he asked, his tone joking and light. He knew that the possibility for that was extremely slim, but it was worth a shot.

 

" O Theós , eísai peismatáris, " Grantaire snorted. "I accept that challenge. Although it's hard to regain that much sleep in such little time. If you plan on winning, then I suggest you hop along. It's almost 9." He himself would not be leaving for another, what, 11 or so hours? He worked double shifts, both at night. His sleep schedule was Fucked Up. The brunet didn't care much, though, and averted away from Enjolras's intense ocean gaze. It made Grantaire... uncomfortable. In which way, no one knows.

 

Grantaire averted his gaze, and then Enjolras did the same. Perhaps he should be getting going. With a pat of his hand against the counter, the blond hopped down and onto the ground, grabbing his empty coffee cup and throwing it down into the trash. "You better stop drinking now if you wanna sober up by the morning," he warned, playfulness still tacked to his voice as he headed for the door. He turned around and took one last good look at Grantaire before saying, " _ Bonne nuit pour l'instant _ , Grantaire.  _ Te vois dans la matinée _ ." Turning back around, Enjolras made his way out of the gas station.

 

Grantaire scoffed at Enjolras's remark, narrowing his eyes. He watched as the blond threw his cup away and left. " _ Kalinychta, Enjolras! S'agapó _ ," he called after him. As it were, Grantaire still had to do that video. Instead of being normal, and doing it in a soundproof cubicle in the campus music building, he made his videos right there behind the counter. He pulled out his tape-recorder and set it up in its normal spot: on the register. He took his guitar out of its case and made sure it was tuned, then tapped gently against the wood a few times. Time for le musique.

 

Enjolras had gotten inside of his car and started it up, but after he buckled his seatbelt he did not drive away. Instead, he clicked on the radio and took his phone out, trying to scroll through the thousands of emails in his email account to find the test scheduling for the next day. When he found it and opened it up, he remembered that, yes, he did have two breaks during the day. He thought so! He sighed in happiness and set his phone in the passenger seat, contemplating another cup of coffee; it would come in handy.

  
  
  
  


Grantaire took a deep breath and started strumming. At first there were no words, just sweet notes filling the air. He didn't notice the world anymore; the melody enveloped him as a black hole sucks in the light. He was completely wrapped up in it now, softly humming at first, then he began to serenade, " _ Well, I've heard there was a secret chord/ that David played and it pleased the Lord/ But you don't really care for music, do you? _ " His eyes were closed and he let himself be swept away in the current. Grantaire felt peace when he made music, even if it wasn't his own. It allowed him a kind of release that cleansed his soul and let him forget about the world for a few brief, wondrous minutes. " _ Baby, I've been here before/ I've seen this room/ and I've walked this floor (you know)/ I used to live alone before I knew ya/ And I've seen your flag on the marble arch/ And love is not a victory march/ It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah! _ "

 

"Oh Hallelujah, Hallelujah... Hallelujah, oh, Hallelujah!" He sang passionately, without care. Blissfully unaware of this plane anymore, he lost himself in the song.

 

Enjolras unbuckled his seatbelt and, after making sure his wallet was still in his pocket, got out of his car. It was beautiful out, the stars speckling the sky and shining down on Enjolras's tan self; he took a second outside to admire the beauty. He was a sucker for beautiful things.

  
Oh, and once he stepped back into the gas station, as quietly as can be, he became a sucker once more.

  
Was that...Grantaire singing? Grantaire playing the guitar? Enjolras felt the chills first; god, they swept across his arms heavily. Next came the swing of his heart, its loud beating syncopating with the sound of Grantaire's strumming. Enjolras was overcome by a wave, and the look in his eyes as he stared at the other was full of none other than love.

  
Love. What a foreign feeling for Enjolras.

  
His legs wouldn't let him walk. His eyes would not move away from the beauty of the brunet. He was stuck in the best way, listening to the angelic voice of Grantaire fill the vacant gas station beautifully.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Grantaire was too ensconced with the rhythm to hear the doorbell ringing, and oblivious to Enjolras standing right inside the door, dumbstruck. He launched into another slow, mournful song. " _ What would I do without your smart mouth?/ Drawing me in, and you kicking me out/ You've got my head spinning, no kidding/ I can't pin you down. _ " He sat up straight, playing directly from the centre of his soul. Grantaire's voice resonated outside the store, no doubt disturbing sleeping neighbors. But did he care? No. His mind was no longer with him; he was pouring his heart into the atmosphere. All of the stars in the sky could not compare to the lyrics that he felt within his being. His vast, unending yearning stretched across the void a length even the ocean could not begin to comprehend. " _ You're my downfall/ You're my muse./ My worst distraction,/ my rhythm and blues./ I can't stop singing, it's ringing, in my head for you! My head's under water, but I'm breathin' fine... You're crazy and I'm out of my mind! _ " He couldn't stop now if he wanted to. His soul was aflame and rapture surged forth from his heart. As he closed this one, he panted heavily and finally, finally opened his eyes.

 

And what he saw inspired fear in his heart. It was Enjolras, standing there in the doorway. Had he been there this whole time? Grantaire couldn’t tell. All he knew was that Enjolras was there, he had heard and all of a sudden the world was spinning and he felt like he’d throw up. The brunet slammed his guitar down into its case almost immediately, jamming the stop button on the recorder. He put everything up in almost record time, despite the violent convulsions that racked his body. 

 

Enjolras couldn't put a finger on the last time he was this nervous. He had caught Grantaire's eyes with his for just a moment before the brunet was slamming his things back into their place. Enjolras's heart was beating in loud, loud thumps, inspired by love and adoration and everything he forgot he could feel, feelings he did not even know existed. His own hands were shaking, and as he stepped into the shop his stature proved apprehensive. "Coffee. Wanted coffee," he said, his voice in an awestruck slur, body struggling to pull him back over to the coffee machines. As he fixed himself a cup, albeit slowly and nervously, he even wondered how long he had been standing there, listening, watching. God, Grantaire was wonderful. How was he only noticing certain things about the older that he had not known before? And Grantaire had been singing so beautifully too, so confidently...Enjolras felt guilt hit him hard like a speeding train. He had stopped Grantaire from doing something amazing. He finished his coffee and stepped over to the counter hesitantly, taking his wallet out and avoiding eye contact. "How much?" he asked, his voice unnaturally quiet.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"It's $2.80," Grantaire grunted. He was already self-conscious about his hobbies, but his music especially. He was so goddamn afraid that his suspicions would be true, that all his singing was in his head and he was awful at it, and he just felt overwhelmed by what just happened.  He moved with a sluggishness that wasn't due to drunkenness, but was owed to the sheer amount of information that the brunet's brain was trying to process. Did Enjolras hate the way he sang? Oh, god, he probably did. He must be quiet so that he doesn't wail in agony at his ears bleeding.  He wheezed on the inside, feeling very, very anxious (is this what Joly feels like?)... and scared. Grantaire wanted nothing more at that moment than to fling himself into a ditch and lay there. He would gladly do so, but alas, the city has a shortage of good ditches. He couldn't bring himself to look at any part of Enjolras, and kept his eyes on a sign behind the blond's head, to make it look as if he were making eye contact.

 

Slowly, Enjolras took the money out and handed it to Grantaire gently. His eyes were scared, but they slowly made their way back up to look up at the taller's eyes, watching them with hesitance but also with a twisted sort of bravery. As he did this, he put his wallet away. He felt...butterflies, in his belly? Was this how people in love felt? His hands still shook, and it was obvious when he gave up the money but when he realized this himself he moves his hands to his jacket pockets. What was he supposed to say now? He probably just scared the shit out of Grantaire, he did not want to make anything worse. Maybe...maybe Grantaire did not feel as bad as he seemed?

  
That was unlikely.

  
"Um. I'm sorry," Enjolras apologized, something he rarely did. "You...I didn't know you sang."

 

He languidly took the payment and put it in the register, continuing to avoid looking at Enjolras. His shoulders still shook, but he tried to act nonchalant and said through gritted teeth, "It's fine, it's okay. It's just a hobby, nothing new here." He was almost at a loss for words. Simple, short sentences would have to do for now. "It doesn't matter, it's not important. Anyway, you decided you needed an extra shot to wake you up?" Grantaire tried to change the subject, tried to swing it vigorously away from himself and his music.

 

Enjolras was almost nervous to keep going with the topic after Grantaire's attempt to change it. So, he said, "Yeah. Um. Extra shot." He was spacing off a bit, his eyes locked on Grantaire still as he pulled the coffee cup closer. Somehow, every detail about he brunet sharpened and became so much more in-depth; his beauty became ebulliently evident. Enjolras realized now that he hadn't finished his sentence, and in fact had barely been fluent before. "Extra shot of espresso, haha, needed some." He cleared his throat after a short, awkward laugh. Contemplating swinging back to the topic of Grantaire's singing, the blond lingered on the opposite side of the counter from the other with his heart thumping wildly.

  
  
  
  


"Well, au lit avec vous," Grantaire muttered. He once again used vous instead of tu, indicating his tense mood at the moment. He stole a single, fleeting glance at Enjolras before turning his back and excusing himself from behind the counter to go get some boxes with which he could restock the shelves with. Nothing fueled work more than the need to escape from the situation. Normally Grantaire hummed while he worked. Welp, not today! Accompanying this work, of course, was his trusty waterbottle, still not filled with water. As he busied himself he took extra-heavy swigs of it, spilling some occasionally. "Have fun studying," he said, daring for the second time to peek at the blond.

 

Just as he had been when he first came inside, Enjolras found himself not knowing what to say. It was completely evident that Grantaire wanted to avoid the subject, but Enjolras was horrible about avoiding things. He didn't like it, it left him with a bad taste in his mouth. But there wasn't a thing he wouldn't do for the brunet. So, he bit his tongue, not leaving but not being very actively present either. He sipped from his coffee, watching the countertop but occasionally looking up at the taller as he worked. Grantaire was speaking to him, though, and he knew he couldn't be quiet any longer; he said, "Yeah. It can wait a while." The young man couldn't help but regret what he said (only a little), but he would rather stay with Grantaire right now. "Grantaire?"

 

"What?" When he said this, it came out harsher than intended. Grantaire's feathers were a bit ruffled, and it'd be a while before they flattened. He continued working, but then he ran out of boxes. So naturally, he went and got some Windex to clean the windows. He was still trying to avoid bringing the music back up, but Enjolras, of course, either a) forgot or b) was going to bring it back up. 

 

It was option b: Enjolras was going to bring it back up. He couldn't help himself, eyes following the brunet as he continued over to the windows. "You have a talent," he said, not meaning for the phrase to be so blunt. Immediately regretful, Enjolras sighed and took another long sip of coffee. When he brought it down and breathed in, he allowed himself to regain composure.

 

“That’s news,” Grantaire commented apathetically. Seeming unaffected by the blond’s words, he started scrubbing the windows a bit harder, feigning more interest in his work than in Enjolras’s tactless observations. The tellurian wasn’t trying very hard to be inattentive; his work was cut out for him. 

 

"Yes, right." A bit awkward, Enjolras folded both hands around his coffee cup, gaze never leaving the other young man. Aboveboard, a new sense of appreciation for Grantaire struck him fondly, and he was definitely not protesting this. Instead he enjoyed it. He was a bit speechless again, however, leaning heavily against the counter and glancing at his coffee every so often. He was not usually one to not have something to say, but right now he was absolutely lost.

  
“Shouldn’t you be heading back? You’re a man of your word, Enjolras, you should honour our ‘sober equals rested’ deal,” Grantaire muttered, scurrying to put up the supplies he’d gotten out. He got out a broom this time, sweeping across the floor in fluid, dance-like motions, avoiding the area where the short blond stood. “Don’t renege on your promises,  _ échase gatáki _ . That’s very unbecoming for  _ votre avenir politique _ .”


End file.
